Sunday, January 6, 2008

Ah, little lad, you're starin' at my fingers. Would you like me to tell you the little story of Right Hand-Left Hand - the story of good and evil? (He rises and flexs the fingers of his left hand) H-A-T-E! It was with this left hand that old brother Cain struck the blow that laid his brother low. (He raises his right hand) L-O-V-E. You see these fingers, dear hearts? These fingers has veins that run straight to the soul of man. The right hand, friends! The hand of love! Now watch and I'll show you the story of life.

These fingers, dear hearts, is always a-warrin' and a-tuggin', one agin the other. Now, watch 'em. Ol' brother Left Hand. Left hand, he's a-fightin'. And it looks like LOVE's a goner. But wait a minute, wait a minute! Hot dog! LOVE's a winnin'? Yes, siree. It's LOVE that won, and ol' Left Hand HATE is down for the count!

The news around the New York Times Murderer’s Row is that Maureen Dowd has a new boyfriend and it isn’t former source L’il Billy Kristol. She has fallen, and fallen hard for a young buck of a Democratic candidate called Barack Obama. He has her so distracted that she is falling off her game. When visiting the caucus house, she barely fits in one pop cultural reference, and it’s about as old as the average Clinton supporter.

It was understandable that Hillary’s “Golden Girls” acolytes would freak out when they saw the throngs of young Obama hopemongers swarming the caucuses. As one Dodd supporter said, looking for her little Dodd corner, “I’m lost in the Obamas.”

Dowd is of course referring to the 1985-1992 series about four post-menopausal women sharing a house in Miami. Based on the relative demographics of the Iowa voters, Hillary has the Geritol set sewn up, but can’t get the support of voters that won’t be on life support if or when she runs for re-election. These frisky seniors still have some gumption as they trade sexual favors for votes.

“My wife told me I’d have to join them or I’d be sleeping on the couch tonight,” said Ed Truslow, a compact 68-year-old manufacturing representative.

A caucusgoer drily noted that it did not seem the most propitious harbinger for Hillary that the fateful evening began with a threat to withhold connubial bliss.

But the favor Maureen is seeking is the election of Obama. Like a teenage girl doodling hearts on her spiral notebook, she can’t help imagining how his name would sound with President in front of it. Maureen sees him as an alliterative lion feeding a desire for a certain feeling.

The Obama revolution arrived not on little cat feet in the Iowa snow but like a balmy promise, an effortlessly leaping lionhungry for something different, propelled by a visceral desire among Americans to feel American again.

She sees Barack as a slick suave operator willing to reawaken the hearts broken by the two last liberal losers and fulfill the voter’s hungers and yearnings.

But on Thursday, Obama’s vague optimism and smooth-jazz modernity came together in a spectacular fusion with the deep yearning of Democrats who have suffered through heartbreaking losses in the last two elections with uninspiring candidates.

As Dowd works up a head of steam she drops every sultry adjective available just short of “clean” and “articulate.”

Often unable to surf the electricity he sparked over the last year, Obama has now put on his laurel wreath and dropped his languid pose, tapping directly into what he calls the “fire burning” across the country — the dream of a cool, smart, elegant, reasonable, literary, witty, decent “West Wing” sort of president who won’t bankrupt us or endanger us or co-opt our rights or put a black hood on the Constitution.

That Abu Ghraib bondage image just adds to the sweltering. Maureen throws some cold water in her face and discusses Hillary’s attempts to co-opt Barack’s message, which forces the Dowdster to decide what is going to drive her from now on. Will it be her hatred for the Clintons or her new lust for the new kid on the election block? She answers:

Listening to Hillary and Obama evokes the famous scene in the classic “The Night of the Hunter,” when Robert Mitchum, whose fingers are tattooed with “LOVE” on his right hand and “HATE” on his left, has a wrestling match with his hands to see which emotion triumphs.

In the movie, love does, but it’s a close call.

It is indeed l-o-v-e. She claims not to do predictions, but I think we know what close call Maureen is hoping for in New Hampshire. Someone get this girl a fan for her hot flashes.

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